


Centuries: Tales of Zestiria

by MeredithMary



Category: Tales of Series, Tales of Zestiria
Genre: Drama, Eventual Romance, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-26
Updated: 2016-04-21
Packaged: 2018-05-29 07:14:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6364501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeredithMary/pseuds/MeredithMary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mikleo wasn't one for sitting still, not one for indulging in self-pity, not one who would let himself be defined by his loss, not one to stew in his mourning. This he had decided. For Soreys sake and his own equally. But how will he spend the years, and how will he then cope with having Sorey back in his life after so much time has passed?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. After Sorey

Mikleo wasn't one for sitting still, not one for indulging in self-pity, not one who would let himself be defined by his loss, not one to stew in his mourning. This he had decided. For Soreys sake and his own equally.

But there was no denying it was hard. Life so far had always been a two player game, always with the same partner. All his own loves felt so hollow on his own. He kept on with archaeology and in the brief moments of joy that came with a new discovery he'd forget and call for Sorey, and when he remembered he wouldn't respond, the joy was lost. Academic discussions with the voices in his head were useless. But he'd have to keep moving forwards. He was a water seraph after all. Water was meant to move, water left still would just turn fetid.

He'd been preparing for this, but in a different way, a way that wouldn't be so sudden. When he was ten Gramps thought he was old enough to tell him the true difference between Seraphim and humans, that while Mikleo was still in the prime of life, Sorey would wither and decay, the links in his mind would dissolve and he would die. That time was like a disease for humans. He had spent three whole days crying in a nest of blankets, refusing to see Sorey, telling him that it was a bad headache. He couldn't stand the thought of seeing him that way. He could have never left him though. It was Sorey.

This wasn't like what he'd had prepared for. He'd been snatched away from him as a young man. Not snatched, he'd thrown himself away from him.

Mikleo wanted to slap himself at that thought. It wasn't about him. Sorey had made his sacrifice for a cause, something far bigger than the both of them. When Sorey became the shepherd he was no longer his, he was everyone's, and his sacrifice was for everyone.

Mikleo was looking for his bigger cause. He was so sure that once he found it, he'd be able to ride out the centuries.

Because all he had to do when he got caught up in his misery was remind himself that Sorey wasn't dead. Yes, he had taken a hiatus from living for an indeterminable number of centuries, and yes it was unclear how much of his memories he would retain, but the positive upside was that he may become a seraph like him after his ordeal. What were centuries when you could follow them with aeons?

Centuries were still centuries. He'd not quite made it to two decades so far, so he still had a humans scale of time, maybe with years the years would seem shorter, but that would still take so many. It felt like a mountain after he had just climbed up a hill. He would climb that mountain. He'd be climbing it without Sorey but he'd be climbing it with a confident gait and without a tear on his face. Maybe there would be a smile. He would find adventures of his own on his journey up this mountain. He wouldn't take the dry, plain, direct route up the mountain, he would make diversions for adventure, to visit his friends, maybe make new ones. Maybe he couldn't see the summit for the clouds but he knew that when he reached it, Sorey would be there.

But mostly he wondered how my times he had to cycle these thoughts around his head before he could go to sleep.


	2. After Twenty Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mikleo had made an oath shortly after he'd lost Sorey. That he wouldn't cut his hair until he was reunited. It was an utterly pointless act as so many a seraphs oaths were, but it was the promise that mattered more than the deed.

Mikleo had made an oath shortly after he'd lost Sorey. That he wouldn't cut his hair until he was reunited. It was an utterly pointless act as so many a seraphs oaths were, but it was the promise that mattered more than the deed. And it seemed appropriate to Mikleo. He had always cut Soreys hair, and on a few occasions he had insisted on returning the favour, but alas, Sorey cut hair with vigour rather than care. But since he had taken the oath his hair had barely grown at all, in twenty years it had only grown enough to be tied in a knot at the base of his neck, possibly because he was so aware of it. It was a symbol of time, caught in a paradox of his own making. His perception of time was both that every year felt longer than it was, but that barely any time had passed at all. His hair responded by simply not growing at all apart from a time every few years where he'd wake up and look in a mirror and see that his hair had definitely grown about a half inch overnight.

He'd gotten taller as well. Growing up, Sorey had always been his frame of reference, the elders had little knowledge on how a baby Seraphim aged, because baby seraphim so rarely existed. They didn't know whether he grew up at the same rate as a human because that's how it supposed to work, or if it was because he was growing up alongside Sorey. He had started to suspect that part of the reason Sorey was taller than him was because at a young age he had got it stuck in his head that Sorey was the taller one, that that was just a fact of life, and since a seraphs appearance was so intrinsically tied to their self-perception, it had become a self-fulfilling prophecy of sorts. Mikleo's growth had snuck up on him, taking him by surprise when he could feel the breeze around his ankles in the same trousers he always wore. Without his frame of reference by his side he was free to grow as he wished. Maybe he was always meant to be taller.

Time was never more apparent to Mikleo than when he met with his human friends.

Alisha had invited him to stay with him and Sergei and their two kids. Ten years after they had met they had married. When Sergei first met Alisha in her late teens, as an honourable knight, he had no inappropriate thoughts about the girl, but as she grew older she became aware of what she wanted and pursued it relentlessly. They had named their first born son Sorey, in honour of his Sorey. He was moved, but couldn't tell them how much it broke his heart. But whenever he looked at this blond haired Sorey he couldn't help but be reminded of the original. The 10 year old had taken after his parents in many ways, they were both dutiful, caring, idealistic people, much like Sorey. The ways that they were different, their patience, their forethought, their restraint hadn't passed to their children, or at least wasn't apparent at this young age.

When they were expecting their second, they thought they might name it Michael if it was a boy, after the last shepherd before Sorey, but Alisha could see Mikleo's unhappiness with this suggestion. No one had told Alisha the whole story about Shepherd Michael. The others had all thought it was Mikleo's story to tell. So he had told her, told her how Michael was his uncle, how in a fit of madness he had sacrificed his baby nephew to enact a powerful seraphic arte, how he had died as a human and was reborn a seraph, about his mother. The baby was a girl and she had been named Muse.

He liked watching the two children in the courtyard, receiving tutelage in sword fighting from their father and after he left, going on crazy imaginary adventures around Ladylake, swinging their wooden swords about wildly and sometimes sparring.

Alisha and Sergei wanted their seraphim friends around their children as much as possible, they wanted to bring them up with as much resonance as possible. They wouldn't say, but they secretly held hopes that they might become shepherds. The children did have a lot of resonance. They couldn't always see him but they could always hear him.

He called little Sorey 'scruff', the kid just thought it was an affectionate nickname, but his parents could tell it was because Mikleo couldn't stand the memory of the way Soreys name tasted in his mouth.


	3. Recollection on the Past Century

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> About a century after he had last seen Sorey, Mikleo was finding happiness easier, but he was not without grief. He now understood why many seraphim refused the friendship of humans. He didn't agree, but he understood. He would always argue that if you had never known grief, the chances are you never had anything worth having. At this point Mikleo had known grief.

About a century after he had last seen Sorey, Mikleo was finding happiness easier, but he was not without grief. He now understood why many seraphim refused the friendship of humans. He didn't agree, but he understood. He would always argue that if you had never known grief, the chances are you never had anything worth having. At this point Mikleo had known grief.

He'd continued as a sub lord, retaining the power of purification, occasionally taking a few months out to journey with Rose and Lailah, Edna and Zaveid. When Rose had retired he had switched his fealty to Muse. She had the most resonance of the Diphda-Strelka children, so had formed a pact with Lailah, with her brother as her squire. As 'scruff' had grown up he had stopped reminding him of Sorey so much, his eyes, while a similar shade of green had grown so serious like his fathers. He was reckless, but so focused, often stoic, but undeniably loving around those he cared for and fought beside, Mikleo included in that number. Muse was much like her mother and her namesake, strong and compassionate.

They were dead now, as were Rose and Alisha, as dead as Sorey would be if he hadn't had made the choice that he did. Every time he lost anyone he felt numb for a period of time but he tried not to feel sad. They all had long, rich lives full of friends and family, short lives from the seraphim perspective but they had still made the time to include him. He was grateful for this and grateful that they had existed at all. They were among the best friends he could have asked for, and helped him cope with the one he had lost.

After Muse, he had resigned as sub lord. He had turned to the celestial record. It was the defining book of his childhood, and much of his adulthood. It was written by a man, a man who hadn't travelled as far as Mikleo, seen as much as Mikleo or lived as long as Mikleo. More importantly it was written by his uncle, a man who tried, and in a way succeeded, in killing him. He was torn between wanting to entirely replace the celestial record, and wanting to preserve it, on one side of the argument was the fact it was such an important book to him and a family legacy. The other side of the argument was his justifiable ill feelings towards the author. He decided he would use the celestial record as a base, adding extensive corrections and expansions, and if the book ever got published, his name would be in a bigger print than Michaels.

There was a going away party held in Elysia. Lailah and the other ex sub lords were there. Whenever the four of them together it often felt just like their first journey together, like Sorey and Rose had just wandered away for a stroll. Lailah still mothered him and made ridiculous puns, Edna teased him mercilessly, still calling him Meebo or anything that she could twist into rhyming with either Mikleo or Meebo. Mikleo was sure that if he and Edna made it to the end of the world, she would still be calling him Meebo. Zaveid still took exception to the concept of shirts.

The 'S' word was considered taboo when he was around. There had been multiple times when Zaveid would start a sentence, hey, remember the time when So - and Lailah would interject, Oh, would you look at those embers in the fire, don't they just look so much like little fire fairies at a dance, they could be talking to each other, saying "hello there beautiful fiery maiden, would you care for a dance?"

There had been times in the earlier decades when Lailah might have taken him to the side and asked him how he was doing but what could he have said? He was fine and he was happy. It was true that with every sunrise he saw he thought, maybe today will the day when Sorey comes back, but that didn't mean there was anything wrong with him.

His friends had gifted him supplies for his journey. The next morning he had left Elysia, dressed in a new set of clothes with new boots, with bags full of books - the celestial record and a selection of archaeological treatise and maps, plenty of food, his mother's staff attached to his belt, his bow slung over his shoulder, his silvery hair tied back in a short braid sitting in between his shoulder blades, tied up with a strip of leather.

He was happy, wandering around all of Glenwood and further afield exploring ruins, finding old seraphs and talking about the history of a place from someone who was really there, making notes and taking suggestions to wander off to somewhere different and new.

Both Lailah and Edna often came to Mikleo on his travels, saying they had a favour that they absolutely needed a water seraph to help with. Lailah never made much effort to cover that fact that she just wanted to check in, Edna came with a superficial layer of affectionate hostility. Zaveid just turned up wherever he happened to be without explanation and demanded to take him out for a drink. He didn't mind, he was always pleased to see them.

Mikleo was content now. This was his bigger thing, his cause, his project, and while he never stopped thinking of Sorey, the years started to go by so much faster.


	4. Centuries Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had been travelling for centuries. There was always somewhere new to go, some new shrine that had been discovered and all the follow up questions that came with it. He was never bored.

He had been travelling for centuries. There was always somewhere new to go, some new shrine that had been discovered and all the follow up questions that came with it. He was never bored.

Mikleo had found he had a real talent for water colours. Lailah had given him a set as a gift. He kept the original wooden case, but the blocks of pigment had been replaced many times over. As a water seraph Mikleo had great control over the paint. Once the pigment was dissolved in water he could be precise about exactly where the paint went on the page, how much the pigment intermingled. He painted landscapes, cityscapes, and interiors of ruins and sanctuaries. He could do portraiture as well, he liked to record the faces of the humans he met for posterity. He had tried to paint Sorey once and broke down when he found he couldn't. He could get the rough shape of his body right and his scruffy brown hair, but couldn't do the face right. He was furious with himself, he could remember what he looked like, why couldn't he paint him?

Mikleo had spent several decades with another seraph who had devoted more years of her life to painting than Mikleo had been alive. She had assured him that it was normal, and tasked him with painting a portrait of himself without a mirror. He had only succeeded in painting a bluish humanoid blob, even though he could feel his face for reference, and he didn't feel so bad about not being able to paint Sorey. He had completed the self-portrait later with the aid of a mirror and he found it a strange experience. He had never paid too much attention to the mirror, he knew what he looked like and there was hardly ever any change. So for the first time in many years he had focused intently on his face, seeing the things he had never really noticed, the angle of his violet eyes, the narrowning of his nose, the way his circlet showed through the gaps in this fringe. His face had gotten a little longer over the years. His hair had grown down his back and was tied up in a high ponytail. He had the almost as fringe as short as it was when he was young. The awkward phase of growing it out enough to tie it back would have been decades and Mikleo wasn't willing to deal with that, besides, his hair had framed his face the same way ever since he had hair, he didn't know whether he'd still be recognisable without it. Which was very important. Especially with Soreys potential memory loss. In addition he felt like he'd be exposed without it. He wore his circlet all the time, but because of his thick hair, no one but the people close to him ever really saw it, it was a semi private thing. He did worry about his hair. It was getting really long and it was really heavy. He didn't know what he would do when it started touching the floor. He would have to tie it up somehow.

A few years later the painting had been hung up in Elysia. He occasionally sent large boxes full of rolled up paintings back to the house he and Sorey once shared, despite the fact he was never there. The villagers thought to hang it up as a reminder that Mikleo was still one of them, and that he was coming back one day, although not all of them believed it.

Mikleo had become very in demand among human scholars. He was considered the authority on archaeology in Glenwood. He had published dozens of large, thorough, fully illustrated volumes, for each region and time period. He had helped found several universities, most notably the re-establishment of the university at Marlind. Every now and then he'd take a few decades out from travelling to take up a tenured professorship. It wasn't without its difficulties, despite the fact that the average resonance of humans had been increasing over the centuries, he still had students that couldn't always hear him. He had to make sure his slides were very thorough and that he had a member of staff with high resonance to act as an interpreter when necessary. But he'd never stay still for more than a few decades, for Mikleo that felt fleeting, for his human colleagues that felt like a normal length of tenure.

But no matter how long he lived, he couldn't shake the feeling that his childhood in Elysia with Sorey was half his life. That twenty years out of what was now nearing a thousand was somehow half. To him it was. Maybe it was because he felt like he had barely grown for the majority of his life. He tried to compare his maturity to that of the humans he had known. If he had felt like 18 when he was 18 how did he feel now that centuries had passed? 24 maybe. He did feel more mature, but nowhere near as mature as people saw him as. For stories of a mysterious man in blue wandering around the ruins of the world had been told for hundreds of years, his earlier books were seen as historical documents in themselves, and when he discussed archaeology he had people who were clearly more mature than him hanging on to his every word like it was gospel. He felt a sham. There had been times when he had been confused, times he had been lonely, flustered and panicked and he had felt like nothing other than a little lost child.


	5. A Thousand Years

The last year Mikleo had been heading further and further east, stopping at each town for a few months at a time to properly survey the environs. He came to a town built at the base of a mountain, a mountain covered in grazing sheep, the town inhabited by literal shepherds. A recent landslide had revealed a route to the summit, previously inaccessible. There was a ruin there, a deep temple carved into the mountain itself, Mikleo had yet to see it himself. The excitement of new ruins had never waned. He walked up the mountain passing the vacant gazes of sheep, until he reached the steps. He kept walking, looking at the collapsed columns, watching the floor for traps. He came to a large relief carved into the wall, with a large blue stone set into it. He reached out to touch it and as he felt the smooth cool stone beneath his skin, he felt a lurch, heard a crunch, and his stomach dropped as the floor fell away beneath him.

For a few milliseconds of free fall, his mind went blank, and he forgot to be scared, and he knew the kind of clarity that you only feel when you know that there is genuine chance you might die and that there is nothing you can do about it.

A gloved hand grabbed his and he stopped falling. Fingerless gloves with an orange feather hanging from the wrists. He looked up to see bright green eyes shining from underneath a nest of brown hair. He must still be falling he thought. Or dead. Or lying at the bottom of the ditch with a head injury.

The hand started to pull him up. He braced his legs against the stone sides of the pit, trying his best to help. He pulled himself over the edge and stood up. In front of him was Sorey, with the same goofy smile on his face he had a millennium ago.

"Mikleo!" he said, lunging at him.

Sorey grabbed Mikleo by the sides of his face and pulled him to his lips. As Mikleo's mind shut down from the sudden sensory and emotional overload, he stood as responsive as if he were made of stone. He could feel Soreys lips press against his, his hair brush against his cheek.

This was not how he had imagined their reunion at all.

Sorey pulled away. "Was that wrong?" he said taking a step back. "That was wrong wasn't it?"

He looked at the floor, running his fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry Mikleo, my memory's not what it used to be. I've just been going on impulse and gut feeling. It's mostly done me well."

Mikleo looked at his friend, standing in front of him for the first time in so long. He took a step forward and threw his arms around him. "Sorey."

He smelled different. He wasn't a human anymore.

"You remembered my name," Mikleo said.

"Did I?"

"You just called me by it." Mikleo still had his arms around Soreys neck. He didn't want to let go.

"Can you remind me? Oh! Luzrov Rulay? No. Wait. Mikleo?"

Mikleo responded by squeezing him harder.

"And the name you just called me? Is that mine?"

"Yes."

"Can you remind me?"

"Sorey."

Sorey pulled away and nodded in Mikleo's general direction. "Sorey. That sounds about right." He was smiling, and slightly blushing.

"So uh, that, was your first impulse on seeing me?"

"OK, OK, that was wrong and I'm sorry. It won't happen again, promise. Lets just forget it."

"I wouldn't say it was wrong as such, but outside of the parameters of our relationship, historically speaking. You took me by surprise."

"We're best friends aren't we? Weren't we, I mean?"

"Yes. Yes we are."

Sorey smiled.

He watched Sorey wander a little way ahead and sit down on the stone floor. He looked at him, properly looked at him. He looked older, only a little, a couple of years by human terms, his cheekbones and jawline a little more pronounced, his body a little more muscular. His brown hair was longer than he had usually kept it, just grazing the tip of his nose, hanging lank around his shoulders. In the midst of the thick brown there were a few locks shot with green. His shepherd cloak had been stained with green also. Mikleo would have took it for grass stains if it wasn't for the intricate swirling. He sat down beside him.

"I woke up in the middle of a field. Maotelus must have dumped me there when he was through with me. I had very little idea of who he was other than the fact that I had been a sleep for a very long time, but I remembered that my best friend was out there waiting for me, but I had nothing to go on. So I wandered to around until I found the nearest town and they couldn't really help because I didn't know the questions to ask. So I sat in the library until I found a book called The Celestial Record and that made me remember that we both promised to travel the world together, finding ruins. So I kept going to ruins looking for you. I couldn't remember what you looked like but I knew I'd recognise you if I saw you. And I asked people in and around the ruins and said 'I'm looking for a seraph, I don't know his name or what he looks like but he's clever and pretty and likes ruins.' Wherever I went people said 'oh yes, he went west,' so I kept going west, stopping of at ruins and here I am."

"They recognised me from that description?"

Sorey nodded. "Yep. It seems you're a bit of a celebrity."

"Huh." Mikleo had never been called pretty by Sorey before and although he had by other people he had always assumed it was because they wanted to complement him and couldn't commit to 'handsome' without feeling dishonest. He found the thought that he could be identified from just 'pretty' and 'clever' strangely hilarious.

"What were you going to do now Sorey?"

"Oh." Sorey looked a little dejected. "I was planning on sticking with you. Finding you was my mission so now I don't have one, and as someone with normal memories, who knew me before whatever made me lose my memories, I think I could learn a lot from you. And you're my best friend, and although I can't remember you, I can still feel it, you know. The one thing I do remember is that we promised we'd travel the world together and I'll hold you to that."


	6. The Begining of After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They had spent the whole day walking, sometimes in silence, sometimes with Sorey asking him all kinds of questions. The personal ones were hard. What was I like when I was little? How to answer that? You were a precocious little shit, and you were my wonderful, loving best friend, were equally true. The more general stuff? What's happened to the world in the past thousand years? How could anyone answer that?

Mikleo had decided to take Sorey back to Elysia. It only seemed right. The villagers would be excited to see him, they had helped raise him after all. He'd get in contact with Lailah, Edna and Zaveid. Lailah still felt guilt for what happened to Sorey, without her he never could have been made shepherd. Zaveid could help with his retraining as a seraph. He would do whatever he needed to do to help Sorey remember as much as possible.

They had spent the whole day walking, sometimes in silence, sometimes with Sorey asking him all kinds of questions. The personal ones were hard. _What was I like when I was little?_ How to answer that? _You were a precocious little shit_ , and _you were my wonderful, loving best friend_ , were equally true. The more general stuff? _What's happened to the world in the past thousand years?_ How could anyone answer that?

He was finding it hard communicating with Sorey. His head was talking loud and clear - _I missed you, I waited for you, I love you, I never want to let you go again_. But he couldn't say all those things out loud. He and Sorey were never like that. They had never needed to spell their feelings out loud because the other just knew. But maybe this Sorey didn't? It would be out of keeping to say those things out loud. Ever since they were in their early teens Sorey had been the sweet one, Mikleo his acerbic counterpoint. But the things he ended up saying to Sorey just fell in between, dead and lifeless and Sorey was noticing. He needed to get back to normal for Sorey. He needed to be himself as much as possible. He was Soreys only real anchor to this world and to his past.

Sorey walked with him side by side through fields of emerald green grass. It was so much like when they had first left Elysia all those years ago.

Mikleo could feel Sorey running his fingers through his ponytail. He wrapped his arm around it and suddenly yanked.

"Ow! Sorey?"

Sorey let go. "You didn't used to have that did you?"

"No. That's new."

"Surely it's a pain? It's so long. Mines nowhere near as long and it still gets in my eyes."

"I was going to say it looked a bit floppy but -"

"Ha! You can talk."

"- that's why I didn't."

They continued walking.

"I can cut it for you when we get back to Elysia if you like," said Mikleo. "Your hair. I remember how to cut it how you like it. But I'll warn you there's a chance that now you're a seraph it might grow back incredibly slowly."

"That sounds great. And if it grows back slowly, doesn't that just mean I'll have to cut it less often? Sounds like a win to me." Sorey started pulling at his ponytail again, only strands and more gently. "Why did you grow your hair out? It just, I dunno, seems a little out of character."

"Dammit. I have to think of a new oath now."

"Huh?"

"It was my oath Sorey. That I wouldn't cut my hair until I found you again."

"Oh." Sorey started twirling it around his fingers. "Are you going to cut it off now?"

"I hadn't given it much thought. I think so. I have gotten fond of it and everyone tells me it looks good. Not Edna, but everyone else. But on the other hand it's heavy, time consuming and gets stuck in trees. Also clothing and household objects. And enemies can grab it in a fight."

"Can I do it?"

"No. You cut my hair for me once before and you cut everything in chunky straight lines. I wore a hat for a month."

"How about I cut the ponytail and you do the rest."

"If, _if_ , I decide to cut it, that'll be OK."

"Great."

The sun had set and Mikleo had set up his tent, it wasn't really big enough for the two of them, but they had shared a bed before. Mikleo had left Sorey inside the tent while he went outside for air. He laid on his back watching the clouds rolling over the moon. _Sorey's in that tent,_ he had to keep reminding himself. _Real, in the flesh, fully conscious and wanting to travel with me._ Part of him still believed he was lying in a pile of rubble in the ruin, either unconscious or dead. No one knew what death was like, having a long illusion about your dearest wish coming true sounded like a viable theory on the nature of heaven. Seeing Sorey again had been his dearest wish for so long.

He went back into the tent. Sorey had taken off his cloak and boots and was lying on Mikleo's bedroll, already softly snoring, mouth slightly ajar. Mikleo removed his jacket, outer shirts and shoes and undid the leather thong tying up his hair. He laid his head down on Soreys stomach, the way they had always slept together when they were younger, and hoped that Sorey wouldn't find it too familiar when he woke up.


	7. Two Evenings in Elysia

When Mikleo and Sorey arrived back at Elysia the sun was setting.

“Sorey, this is Elysia.”

“Elysia. _Elysia,_ _”_ replied Sorey, rolling the vowels across his tongue. 

“Do you remember anything?”

Soreys face was blank until a look of recollection flooded through his eyes, and he ran off.

“That one,” he said pointing at a house in the distance. “That one was mine.”

“ _Ours,_ but yes.”

“Can I go inside?”

Sorey was already inside before Mikleo could answer.

“Wow Mikleo. I know you said you’d been working on writing archaeology books, but this is _a lot_ of manuscripts. I’m impressed.”

_And so you should be,_ Mikleo couldn't help but think.

Sorey flopped backwards onto the bed.

“I remember this. It feels like home.”

Mikleo flopped down onto the bed next to him.

“That’s good to hear Sorey.  The people of the village will be wanting to see you.”

“Really? Why?”

“Because they raised you. You’re family to them.”

Sorey swallowed a yawn. “Is it a big family?”

Mikleo couldn’t help but notice that his friends’ eyelids were fluttering, stuttering between open and closed. He was tired.

“Yes, there’s about twenty here. There’s some old friends of yours too, not here. I’ll get the message out tomorrow.  They’ll want to see you.”

“Well I guess that makes me luckier than I thought.”

_Always with the dumb smile,_ Mikleo thought. _And the endless positivity. He_ _’s not changed a bit._

“You should get some sleep Sorey. Big day tomorrow. You’ll have about twenty seraphs fussing over you.  At least you’ll take the focus off from me.”

“Goodnight Mikleo.”

_He_ _’s going to sleep right this second?_ His eyes were closed and he’d wiggled himself into the blankets and pillows. _He_ _’s not even taken his shoes of yet._

_“_ Goodnight Sorey.”

 

When morning came Mikleo woke up with his head on Soreys lap, gently rising and falling with his breathing. Sorey was shaking him by the shoulder.

“Mikleo. There’s people talking outside the door, I can hear them.” 

“Ugh.” Mikleo rose sluggishly, wearing nothing but an undershirt and shorts. He opened the door to a group of villagers, fronted by the elderly fire seraph who had taught them both about herbs when they were younger.

“Mikleo! Not only have I heard reports of you arriving in the night, but that you have Sorey with you, and you’re keeping him to yourself.”

There were seven people waiting outside the door.

“Someone saw us?”

“So you do have Sorey? Is he decent, can we see him?” piped a younger water seraph.

“ _I_ _’m_ not decent,” he said, knobbly knees bare, hair flopped over his face. “Give us a few minutes, then maybe we can let you in a couple at a time, Soreys memory’s gone and I don’t want to overwhelm him.”

Sorey walked up behind him and slapped his hands down on his shoulders.

“Its OK Mikleo, you can let them in.”

He extended his hand out to the people in front of him.

“Hi there. According to Mikleo here, I’m Sorey. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

 

The Elysians had spent that day orbiting around Sorey.  They asked him all the same questions all with the same stock answer which Sorey had nailed down and repeated through the day.

_Oh, well I remember that I was bound to Maotelus, but then I woke up in a field to the north with no memories, and pretty much nothing in my head but the instinct to try and find Mikleo, so I spent a few months wandering around, and then I did, and he brought me here and that_ _’s pretty much the entirety of my memories._

Since Sorey was a wind seraph now, four of the wind seraphs in the village had offered to train him, and they all did, simultaneously that afternoon, with the rest of the villagers sitting in a circle around, watching.  Their advice and methods were mostly contradictory, and Sorey mostly ended up getting confused.  At least he hadn't forgotten his swordsmanship.  _Maybe we could spar again soon._ Mikleo liked to think he could beat him far more easily now, even though it had been quite some time since he had fought against any thing that could be reasonably counted as a threat. There were far less hellions in the world now, as a direct result of Soreys actions.

The villagers had insisted on throwing a party in honour of Soreys - and to a lesser extent Mikleo’s -return the evening after the next. There would be a bonfire and a barbecue, the fire seraphs were already organising a fireworks show, the water seraphs, sans Mikleo, were making a display of dancing fountains. Mikleo had sent word to Lailah and the others by means of seraphim carrier pigeons that the villagers had cultivated.

 

When night fell they returned to their house.  Sorey went to stoke the fire, almost instinctively, knowing the quirks of the house’s chiminea, putting logs on the fire like a machine. He had always done it before, water seraphs like Mikleo were at a natural disadvantage when it came to fires, fire generally made them panic and panic made them douse it. 

“Everyone here is really nice.”

Mikleo was taking of his boots and gloves.

“Hey Mikleo.  You know you said you could cut my hair for me? It was flying all over when I was trying those wind artes, so I think I’d like that.”

“You know, I think Zaveid grew his hair long purely so it would look more impressive when he did his wind artes.”

“Who’s Zaveid?”

“Ha. I can imagine it now.” Mikleo deepened his voice and put on a fake bravado. “‘What _do you mean you don_ _’t remember me? How could anyone ever forget me, Zaveid? And there I was thinking that we were friend’s shepherd_.’ ”

Soreys face was blank, mouth slightly open, eyebrows slightly raised.

“That was Zaveid.” Mikleo explained. “You’ll probably meet him soon.”

He walked around the house poking through boxes, moving the boxes around to reach the ones underneath, haphazardly moving piles of books and manuscripts.

“Got them.” Mikleo popped up and turned on his heels. “Scissors.”

“For my hair?”

“Yes. Do you want to do this now or later?”

“Hmm. What else were we going to do this evening?”

_Good question._ “I could show you my books. But we could do that whenever. Did you want me to do it this evening?”

Sorey pulled at his hair and looked at his reflection in his swords blade.

“They’re throwing a party for me, so maybe it would be nice to look a bit smarter for that.”

Mikleo pulled a stool into the middle of the room and told him to sit still. Sorey did as he was told.  Mikleo ran his fingers through Soreys thick hair.  Starting from the back, he pulled sections between his fingers and point cut away the length he knew shouldn't be there.

Sorey snapped around to face Mikleo.

“Sorey!”

“You do know how to do this?”

“Yes Sorey, I do. Turn around and stay still.”

Mikleo quite enjoyed cutting Soreys hair. It was relaxing, slowly and purposefully taking locks of hair, extending them out, measuring up against the sections he had already cut, and snipping away the hair and watching it fall to the floor. Sorey twitched slightly whenever some went down his neck, but he behaved and stayed still. There was something deeply satisfying about re-exposing the nape of Soreys neck, and making his ears visible again. His hair how it was had drowned his feather earrings, and they were now freed.  He moved to the front. _Ok, usually it’s about level with his eyebrows, but that’s with it at an angle, so with me having the hair in tension I should cut it about level with the eye itself._ Mikleo was leaning over, inches away from Soreys face. Soreys big green eyes were looking up and caught his. Sorey grinned when he saw he had caught Mikleos attention.

_Dammit._

Sorey was beginning to look a lot more like Sorey. Mikleo took the final few snips out of his fringe. That was much better.  His face was framed much more nicely, his eyes had nothing obscuring them. A few locks of green were dashed through the fringe, making them pop even more.

Sorey look up at him, eyebrow raised, head cocked slightly to the side as if to say _why are you looking at me like that?_

Mikleo moved his gaze down to his lips.

_Dammit._

What was it Sorey had said after the last time he had kissed him? _It won’t happen again, promise. Let’s just forget it._ Mikleo scurried behind Sorey to pretend to be examining the back. If he was going to kiss him again he’d have to go first. He couldn’t take advantage of Sorey the way he was right now, even if his lack of memory means he might be more receptive to that kind of thing. He had him back right now, and that was more than enough for him. He’d wait a few years for Sorey to get his footing back, for their relationship to fall back in to normal patterns, and then he’d go for it. He’d waited far too long to ignore what he wanted. He definitely wanted to kiss Sorey.

“Mikleo?”

“I’m all done.” He messed up Soreys hair so it fell in the way it always used to and fetched Sorey a mirror.  Sorey pulled a selection of grins, grimaces and pouts in the mirror, and ran his fingers through his hair.

“Thanks, that’s much better.”

Mikleo untied his long hair and retied it a little below the base of his neck. Now was as good a time as any. He took a deep breath and passed the scissors to Sorey.

“Do it.”

“Your hair?”

“Yes before I change my mind.”

Sorey sat behind Mikleo holding the long ponytail in his hands.

“I actually feel a bit bad cutting it. It’s very pretty.  Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“‘Before I change my mind’ is the kind of thing an uncertain person would say.”

Sorey started cutting, Mikleo could hear the sound of the shears struggling through the thick hair, feeling pieces gradually have the tension taken off as they were freed from the pony tail. Mikleo's heart was beating far too fast, and his mouth felt dry. With one final snip it was done and hair fell over Mikleo’s cheeks, and he shook his head. Everything felt so light, it was strange after so long. Sorey proudly held the ponytail up in the air, as if he’d just caught a fish.

“Are you going to keep it?”

“My hair?”

Sorey nodded. “It’s a really pretty colour and really thick, and hair is stronger than steel for the same diameter.  You could make something out of it. Like a belt or something.”

“Sorey, who on earth would wear a belt of my hair?”

“ _I_ would.”

“Of course _you_ would.”

Mikleo positioned a mirror in front of him and commanded Sorey to fetch another to hold behind him. Mikleo stared down his reflection.  As it fell now his hair looked not dissimilar to roses, chunky and shoulder length, but that wouldn’t do.  He pulled a section from the front left and cut parallel to his head, several inches away, then took the next section, and matched it to the first, then did this a few more times, then did the same on the other side and since he had done it carefully it had all matched up at the back. Sorey was more than happy to dart about the back with the mirror as Mikleo directed him.

While focusing on tidying up the front Mikleo saw himself. _I look so young. It’s just like before, like the past thousand years had never happened._ But he reminded himself that they had. He was taller than Sorey now, he had that, and he’d helped the other shepherds and he’d achieved so much academically.  _Yes, Sorey had saved Glenwood from the lord of calamity, with my help, but what had he done lately?_ He reminded himself that it wasn’t a competition. But he and Sorey would never be completely back to the way they were, because they weren't completely the same people. He had centuries of life added on to him, Sorey had had the memories of a lifetime taken away.  They both looked more like they used to, but that was all. 

When he was done he ran his fingers through it and fluffed it up. He turned to Sorey to say he was done.

“Mikleo!”

Sorey launched himself at him with a hug that that almost winded him and succeeded in knocking him to the floor, a fact that didn’t faze Sorey. On the floor, Sorey affectionately constricted Mikleo, with his face nuzzled into his neck. He was sure he had felt Soreys lips brush against the corner of his lips on their way down. Maybe it was just poor aim on Soreys part, or maybe he had gone in for a kiss again and remembered his promise? Either way Sorey didn’t show any signs of letting go soon.

“What’s this about Sorey?” he asked.

“You look so much like I remember.”

“I thought you couldn’t remember?”

“I just remembered.”

Mikleo hugged him back, burying his face in his Soreys freshly cut hair.

“How much do you remember?”

Sorey held on a little looser, so he could make space to talk.

“I remember that you used to be shorter than me.  And you were always mean to me.”

“You were mean to me too.”

Sorey apologised.

“It’s, ok Sorey, we were best friends and that’s what best friends do.”

“We were always trying so hard to impress each other.  And so competitive.”

“Again, what best friends do.”

Sorey rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. “You were always so …protective over me.”

Mikleo stared at Sorey staring at the ceiling. _Were,_ He thought. _False._

“You would have done any of the things I would have done.”

“That does sound like me.” Sorey sat up.

“You look good Mikleo. Didn’t say.”

Mikleo hadn’t even taken a second to consider whether he looked _good_ or not. Sorey got up to examine the piles of manuscripts.

“You wanted to show me your books?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is a little tropey, but probably my favourite chapter so far. Sorry about Mikleo's hair, Mikleo's hair fans.


	8. The Next Day

The next morning Mikleo had taken Sorey to Mabinogio ruins.

 Sorey had stayed up until the early hours of the morning reading his books, long after Mikleo himself had gone to bed. He stayed in late that morning, but Mikleo had let him sleep in and had made him breakfast. Sorey had woken up anxious to explore some ruins with his friend, and it was all Mikleo could do to make him stay and eat his breakfast before running off.

Wandering around the ruins Sorey had a face of wide eyed wonderment, as if he was seeing it all for the first time, but his feet knew exactly where to go. He traced his fingers across the reliefs, speculating about the age and style. He translated the ancient language carved into the walls and read aloud. He gazed in awe at the grand halls, quoting passages from the celestial record. He could recount the book verbatim. _The damn book._ Mikleo never though he could be jealous of a book.

But it was a lot like old times. They would both question each other’s judgement, and get into heated debates, often devolving into shoving matches. Only Sorey would think to question Mikleo, the undisputed authority on archaeology in Glenwood, and he wouldn't have had it any other way.

They left to head back to the village in the mid-afternoon. Sorey had wanted to spend the rest of the day training in seraphic artes.

Mikleo was stopped by Sorey tugging on his sleeve.

“Mikleo, I’ve been wanting to say that I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“I may not remember much about you, facts and figures wise, but I can read you quite well.  And a lot of the time you’re sad. I make you sad.  And I’m sorry.”

Sorey was still holding on to his sleeve.

“You’ve done nothing to apologise for. I’m sad for all the memories you’ve lost, but far happier that you’re here-”

“I’ve been selfish. I just wanted to find my old best friend, and then I stuck with you without giving you a choice, and what if I’m not the same Sorey as I was before? I don’t know that guy. I never stopped to think that that was unfair on you, that you’d look at me and see some version of me that you’d lost. If you want me to leave, even if it’s just for a little while, I will -”

“Don't you dare say that.”

Mikleo pulled away from him.

“Don't you ever say that, don't you ever think that. _I waited a thousand years for you,_ believe me, a little sadness now is _nothing_ compared to that. I will never send you away and I will never not follow you. Because I’m still me after all this time, and you’re still you, no matter what, and we were always going to spend our lives travelling together. Everything that’s happened isn't going to change that.”

Sorey couldn’t meet his gaze.

“I’m so sorry Mikleo.”

Mikleo was conscious of his own elevated heartbeat, and a warmth blooming behind his cheeks. He shouldn’t have shouted at him.

“Did you want to leave?”

“Of course not.” Sorey paused. “You’re the best and only thing I have.”

They both stared vacantly at each other for a few seconds until Sorey gave Mikleo a soft punch in the shoulder which he returned.

 

“Sorey!”

A red whirlwind flew across the field and smothered Sorey.

“Lailah? What are you doing here?”

The fire seraph was grinning with her eyes scrunched shut, arms tight around Soreys neck, Sorey turning slightly pink. Sorey wriggled free, to turn and extend a hand to her.

“Hi. I take it you know me?” Sorey asked.

“Sorey, this is Lailah,” Mikleo interjected, entirely ignored by her.

“Oh Sorey, let me take a look at you.”

Lailah walked in circles around him, looking him up and down.

“A wind seraph?”

They both nodded.

“You got taller. Mikleo’s currently beating you though.”

“So you _can_ see me.”

Lailah threw her arms around Mikleo.

“Of course.”

 

After a quick catch-up Mikleo and Lailah spent the rest of the afternoon sat on the grass watching Sorey train. Lailah had said that she wasn't going to wait another day for the party to see Sorey. She had been worried about him as Mikleo was. 

“You cut your hair.”

Mikleo pulled at it with his fingers. “Yeah.”

“You look really young.”

“I know.” Lailah hadn't been the first to say it that day.

“I liked it long. It was starting to look a little like mine.”

“Maybe that was part of the problem.”

Lailah sat quietly. She put her hands in her lap and stared down at them momentarily, then stared at Sorey, then turned her gaze to the glazing over Mikleo’s violet eyes.

“Are you OK, Mikleo?”

Mikleo had half expected the question, and yet wasn't prepared.

“Of course. Why wouldn't I be?”

“How much can he remember, exactly?”

“Not much. He’s still him, the same mannerisms, the say way of speaking and thinking, and he remembers who I am to him. But very few details.”

“But you have all the time in the world to make new memories, and isn’t that a wonderful thing? Would you prefer he came back human with all his memories but only seventy years to live? You get to have all the time in the world with him, and he gets all that time with you also. Surely it’s the better deal.”

“When we were really little Sorey cried all the time. Often because I was teasing him, often because he injured himself, or just because he wanted something. I think at an early age he had figured out, subconsciously at least, that adults responded much better to crying than getting angry or throwing a tantrum, which is what I did. But whenever he cried I channelled his tears to behind his ears, because he’s ticklish there.  Always worked. But he won’t remember that, or anything else. It’s gone.”

“You should just tell him. Just sit him down one evening and unload everything like that. I’m sure he’d like to hear it.”

Lailah put her arm around his shoulders.

“You know what I think might cheer you up. Shoot a jet of water behind his ear.”

Mikleo smiled wryly.

“I think you might be right.”

Mikleo took aim on his target, and waited for him to stand still before firing a thin jet of water.

Sorey doubled up and his knees dropped from under him.  Mikleo jogged over to help him up.

“Mikleo! What did you do that for?”

“Me?” Mikleo said with eyes wide in a display of innocence.

“Yes you.  Water was fired at my ears and I didn't even know I was ticklish there!”

Mikleo put his hand on his friend’s shoulders.

“It was Lailah’s idea, and it was fun.”


	9. The Night of the Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was starting to feel like nothing had changed and then Rose’s absence would make itself felt. Sorey hadn't remembered her. Or Alisha.  
> Mikleo dearly hoped that he remembered them soon. It seemed disrespectful. They were both wonderful people, people who had done great things for Sorey, both in helping out on his journey, and after, in his name and in his memory. They were both good friends and had cared for Sorey. Not as much as Mikleo, that would be nearly impossible, but a lot nonetheless. Sorey deserved to remember them as much as they deserved to be remembered.

The night of the party came. Edna and Zaveid had arrived shortly after each other. Sorey recited his same speech to them, and they both insulted Mikleos hair. They all shared stories of their journey with Sorey. He was hanging on to their every word. Every now and then his eyes would light up with recognition and he’d say Yes, I remember, I remember! It was odd. It was starting to feel like nothing had changed and then Rose’s absence would make itself felt. Sorey hadn't remembered her. Or Alisha.

  
Mikleo dearly hoped that he remembered them soon. It seemed disrespectful. They were both wonderful people, people who had done great things for Sorey, both in helping out on his journey, and after, in his name and in his memory. They were both good friends and had cared for Sorey. Not as much as Mikleo, that would be nearly impossible, but a lot nonetheless. Sorey deserved to remember them as much as they deserved to be remembered.

  
But Mikleo didn't want Sorey to feel the grief he had felt over the two of them. As much as he had romanticised his pain when he was feeling it, it was a just a coping strategy. Grief is awful. He wanted to protect Sorey from it for as long as possible. He hadn't told him about what had happened to Gramps yet. The man who raised them. He wasn't looking forward to that conversation.

  
After a little while Zaveid had offered to impart his wisdom regarding wind artes to Sorey. Mikleo, Lailah and Edna had stayed by the fire.

  
“He looks well, wouldn’t you say?” said Lailah.

  
“Yes. He looks a lot better than Meebo.”

  
“Hey!”

Edna sat with her umbrella in her lap. “Stop pouting Meebo. What I meant was that you look a little depressed for someone who’s had their dearly beloved returned to them. If it was - I mean I wouldn't be so sad.”

“Mikleo’s finding it a little hard. He’s dealing with it, we talked about it yesterday.”

“It fine. He’s still him, but sometimes he’ll do things that really throw me.”

“Like what?” Lailah enquired.

“Like … uh…” Sorey and Zaveid were out of earshot. “When I first found him he tried to kiss me.”

The embers flickered in the fire, and the logs crumbled and collapsed into ashes.

“I’m sure you’ve dreamed exactly that before. I’d put money on it,” Edna said. “In fact I used to have the feeling that that sort of stuff was going on behind closed doors, but I was worried if I asked you’d tell me.”

“No - no, that is definitely unusual behaviour.”

“But you liked it? Wait. Please don't tell me.”

Lailah leaned in. “You can tell me.”

“I need to go get something from the house.” Mikleo left without another word.

He walked away from the party. After several hours he was tired of talking. It was fun at first, the music and dancing, the energy. But now he needed some silence. He left and sat down in the grass by the cliff. The air was cool and still, the sun was setting over Ladylake in the distance, the noise from the party was quiet, but there just enough to be comforting. He needed to be alone with his thoughts, but not completely isolated. It was nice. He would watch the clouds, painted pink and orange by the sunset, drifting -

“What are you doing over here?” a voice interrupted.

“Sorey? Why aren't you at your party?”

Sorey sat down next to him and draped his arm over his shoulder.

“I saw you leaving.”

Sorey tried to meet Mikleos eyes, Mikleo looked away.

“You never answered my question?”

Mikleo gave in and let him make eye contact.

“I just needed a second.”

Sorey squeezed on Mikleo’s arm.

“Good. I thought you might be wanting to get away from me.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you’ve been having a hard time.”

Mikleo paused.

“Sorey.” He moved his arm around Soreys waist and leant his head against his. “I’m alright. Don’t worry about me.”

Mikleo felt Sorey pull a little more on his shoulder and felt his head slide down onto his shoulder, their hair mingling, brown and green with silver and blue. Sorey stared straight ahead, eyes following the darkness as it crawled over Lakehaven heights.

“Hey Mikleo. I was thinking we should leave the day after tomorrow. I can tell you weren't wanting to stay here for too long. So let’s go. You can take me to all the places I read about in your books. Or places that neither of us have been before. I don’t mind. But let’s go, and soon.”

These were the exact words that Mikleo had been needing to hear.

“First thing in the morning you start packing. I’ll start planning. I’ll map out the perfect world tour.”

Sorey stood up and extended a hand to Mikleo.

“Come on ‘Meebo’, let’s get back the party.”

“I never should have invited Edna,” he said, standing up.

Sorey had taken several strides in the direction of the party when Mikleo called him to stop.

“Wait.”

He needed to tell him. Sooner rather than later. But it was hard. It had been hard last time, and he’d failed. He wouldn’t fail this time. But Sorey, this fresh, new Sorey, would he understand?

“I should tell you something. Don’t think too hard about this, but I owe it to you to say this. In the next few months, maybe even years I might act strange towards you, do and say things due to cruel, selfish and unfair thoughts, but I hope this goes some way to explaining things in advance.”

Sorey had walked back towards him. Mikleo grabbed Sorey's hand and stared at it, his hands squeezing so hard the veins were showing, nails digging into Sorey's skin.

“I wanted to tell you before, right before I lost you, but I bailed. I was a coward. I decided to assume that you always had just known, that you didn’t need me to say it out loud and I’ve regretted it for a thousand years -”

“It was right here, wasn't it?”

Mikleo stopped, unable to speak, his eyes wide, Sorey’s earnest as he continued.

“Where you almost told me that you loved me?”

Mikleo hadn't foreseen this scenario.

“Yes.”

“I love you too.”

Mikleo lets Sorey's hand slip out of his, and couldn't bring himself to move his gaze higher than his chest.

“How …how could you know? How could you love me when you’ve known me for less than a week?”

Sorey ran his hand through his hair and turned to watch the sky.

“We both know that’s not quite true. When I woke up my first thought was ‘the person I love most is waiting for me.’ I have to say that the notion of love seems a little … disembodied, inside me, like there’s nothing its connected to, and the first time I saw you I thought ‘oh this is starting to make sense’. And how I remember about before? I just remembered just then. I guess I just remember the most important things.”

“Sorey.”

“Come on, let’s go back to the party. Just don’t be weird.”

“I'm not being weird,” Mikleo protested.

“You’re pulling a weird face.”

Mikleo was not aware.


	10. Four Months

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It had been a little over 4 months since Sorey had woken up in a field.
> 
> The first thing he had noticed was the sun. High in the sky directly above him it was strong enough to force its way through his eyelids and stain his whole world red. He rolled to his side so the sun wasn't so direct.
> 
> The next thing he noticed was cows. One was only a few metres away, staring directly at him with its bulbous wet brown eyes. Menacingly.
> 
> He clambered up and started to walk and then stopped. Where was he walking? Where was he? He?
> 
> The only thing he knew for certain was that he was in a field, it was very sunny and he'd made an enemy of a cow.

It had been a little over 4 months since Sorey had woken up in a field.

The first thing he had noticed was the sun. High in the sky directly above him it was strong enough to force its way through his eyelids and stain his whole world red. He rolled to his side so the sun wasn't so direct.

The next thing he noticed was cows. One was only a few metres away, staring directly at him with its bulbous wet brown eyes. Menacingly.

He clambered up and started to walk and then stopped. Where was he walking? Where was he? He?

The only thing he knew for certain was that he was in a field, it was very sunny and he'd made an enemy of a cow.

It struck him in a sudden flash of inspiration. He'd find _him._

Him? Who? _Him._

He thought of all the people he knew. _He_ can't be himself and it seemed unlikely that he was the cow. Never mind. _It's more than likely that more people exist in the world._

He walked downhill for no reason other than that it was easier than walking uphill, and he stumbled across a town in the river basin. That was a relief, at least he knew for certain that there were other people in existence. But for whatever reason a lot of them couldn't see him. Some could only hear him, but they let him in the inn anyway. They seemed sorry for him, he couldn't figure out why. The bowing and the reverie was stranger still.

None of the people in the village were _him_. He'd checked each and every one of them. When he'd asked the priest, one of the few people who could see him, if there were any other villages anywhere, he had laughed and pointed him to the library and the maps. He liked the library but it was daunting. These books were going to make his world far bigger, and fast. When he saw just how small the river basin he was in was in comparison to the country he was scared. When he saw how big the country was in comparison to the world he was excited. It would make finding him far harder, however.

But he'd be going on a great adventure across the world.

But he'd be doing it alone.

It would be a great quest, and a true labour of love.

He loved him.

_Oh._

He was leaving the library to go to his bed in the inn when a familiar spine caught his eye. _The Celestial Record._ He had stayed in all night reading. It turned out he could read very quickly when he already knew everything the book was going to say. He found himself reading out loud, his voice often further ahead than his eyes. The book was a great comfort. He had slept with his arms around it the way another might have slept with a pillow or a lover.

When he woke up he was excited by the prospect of travelling the world, especially about seeing ruins. He had always loved ruins, it seemed.

No.

_We_ had always loved ruins.

They had spent many evenings over many years poring over that book, planning on seeing all the places in it in the future, and running rampant in ruins near their home, him and the indistinct grey blob. He would have better luck looking in and around ruins.

The villagers had been happy to let him take the celestial record and one of the more recent atlas' with him, and provided him with a large amount of food. Nice people.

He found hitchhiking very easy. People fit in to one of two categories. The people who couldn't see him were most common, and he'd sit in the back of the merchants motorised carts without complaint. The others were the ones who could see him, and they were very happy to let him ride with them, and would even take him out of their way if he wanted. They kept calling him 'mighty seraph'. He didn't think that was his name.

And so he had spent months like that, travelling across Glenwood, which he had learned, was the name or the continent.

Sometimes the ruins would be empty in the middle of nowhere, but other times they would be crowded with archaeologists. When he could find someone who could see him, he would ask, _sorry, but I_ _'m looking for my best friend. Have you seen him?_ The response would always be, _well, what does he look like?_ He had strained to think. The colour of his hair was … _pretty,_ the colour of his eyes was … _pretty._ This hadn't been helpful.

"How can you not know what your best friend looks like?" he had been asked.

"I'm blind," he had lied.

"Oh. I mean you seem to be fine."

"I can read the wind."

This seemed like utter rubbish and he had no idea where it came from.

Then he had met an old man in Lohgrin, a lifelong archaeologist.

"Is he a seraph like you?" the man had asked.

"I believe so, yes."

"And an archaeologist?"

"I think so. At least he really loved ruins when he was younger. He loved this book." He held the Celestial record in front of him.

"I think I know the man you're talking about. He taught me back when I was just 20, best professor I ever had. He's not taught for decades now though. They call him the blue wanderer around these parts. A living legend."

He was filled with an odd pride at this information, and at least now he had a name of sorts to go off.

So he kept moving and asked people about sightings of _the blue wanderer._ It had taken quite some time. He was told west and he headed west, and then he was told, _oh no, he left, headed west._

After fourteen weeks had found his way to a ruin, an old temple to water it would seem. So he wandered, through every corridor, solved the puzzles to unlock every door he could find. Most were already unlocked, someone had been here already. Maybe it was _him._ Maybe it was other archaeologists.

He took a deep breath as the air as he walked in to a grand hall. It was so much drier and cooler than in the damp corridors. There was a figure in the distance, tall and dressed in blue, a seraph.

_Was that him?_

He felt a lurch, heard a crunch, and ran to him. A crack rended the floor in two between his feet, and fell away just in front of him. He ducked to grab a gloved hand as it was falling. The strain in his arm meant that he had caught him. The man stared up at him, strangely happy and vacant. _He must be in shock._ He braced his feet against the floors and used his other hand to pull against the edge of a paving slab. He felt the weight lift off his arm and he took a good look at the man standing in front of him.

His hair was blue and silver and shone beautifully in the ribbons of light.

His skin was pale and clear and looked soft.

His eyes were sincere and studious and a shade of purple he decided on the spot was his new favourite colour.

He was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

It was definitely him. There was no doubt.

_How is it that this one's mine?_

_How did I ever get so lucky?_

_Mikleo._


	11. Eight Years

They had been travelling for the past eight years. A long circular of all of Mikleo's favourite places had brought them back full circle, to Camlann and Artorius' throne. In the past thousand years the area had been left uninhabited by humans, but with malevolence cast away the area had been overrun with flora and fauna.

Mikleo was perched on the base of a broken column, watching Sorey. He was sat a little way away in the grass, leaning so his head was nearly on the ground, eye level with the carved script he was trying to translate, muttering incoherently to himself, occasionally piping up with a query for him.

Mikleo's hair hung around his shoulders. He liked it there, he didn't feel so young, but it wasn't so impractical and heavy, he could tuck it behind his ears and tie it back it high winds. Sorey had decided he liked his a little shorter than he had when he was younger. It wasn't a big change, and he looked good with it, even if it made his ears look bigger, but it did cause a dissonance in Mikleo's head, between the Sorey stood in front of him and the crystallised image of Sorey formed in his absence.

But there was only ever one Sorey. In the earlier years of Soreys return, Mikleo couldn't help but mourn the loss of 'path A' Sorey, the Sorey that never lost his memories, never slept for a thousand years, never became a seraph. He mourned for the human life he could have lived, the human children and family he might have had. The Sorey who still knew him inside out.

But 'path A' Sorey was only ever fiction. He had Sorey right here. He had spent longer than he was proud of looking at every one of Soreys actions thinking, ' _would path A Sorey have done that?_ _'_

' _Would path A Sorey have changed his hair?' w_ as a thought that had popped up in the back of his head almost every time he looked at him. _Possibly_ , but there was no way of knowing because path A Sorey is _utter fiction._

But now, eight years later, those thoughts were gone from his head. They had spent so much time together, Sorey knew Mikleo almost as well as he knew him. Most of Soreys old memories had slowly filled in and they had made eight years of new memories together. Sorey was _Sorey._ Just as Sorey as he'd ever been, and Mikleo could see it without straining himself through the obscuring lenses of his own making. They were both content.

Mikleo looked over to Sorey, his eyes were so focused, his hair fluttering in the breeze.

It had taken so long for things to get back to normal, they were best friends and partners, as good if not better than as in their youth.

And now Mikleo was going to ruin everything.

"Sorey," he called.

Sorey stood up, turning to face Mikleo. Once eye contact was made neither broke it. Mikleo made his way towards Sorey in long, uneven strides, ignoring the debris hidden in the long grass at their feet. Mikleo had promised himself he would do this after they had come back here, back full circle together.

He placed a hand at the back of Soreys head and brought him forward to his lips. His were as soft as the last time. Sorey was tense but he seemed to start to relax-

Sorey pulled away. Mikleo felt like his heart was made of lead. Sorey stared up with big green eyes. _I swear they were never that big before._

"Mikleo."

Sorey slowly moved his hand to the nape of Mikleo's neck and kissed him back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this always seemed like a good place to wrap it up. May write more in future, so think of this as season one. 
> 
> I'm a few thousand words deep in a university AU, so look out for that!


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